


kill the party with me

by shizuoh



Series: still just you, frisk [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Nonbinary Chara (Undertale), Nonbinary Frisk (Undertale), Post-Undertale Pacifist Route, Reader is Chara (Undertale), References to Undertale Genocide Route, Selectively Mute Frisk (Undertale), Sharing a Body, allusions to past trauma/suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:22:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28576683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shizuoh/pseuds/shizuoh
Summary: Dad’s got pictures of him with a younger Undyne, and a big group photo of Frisk and their friends in front of Mom’s school, but other than that… nothing. Mom’s got a lot more — Frisk posing for school photos, group photos in front of a beach, Frisk climbing up a tree, sans and Papyrus with their arms around one another and grinning at the camera, Frisk next to a fireplace at Christmas, Frisk, Frisk, and more Frisk.Except in these photos, it’s just Frisk. There’s no you — or at least, noyouthat Mom or anyone else is even aware of. Behind those brown eyes of theirs, you’re always lingering around there somewhere. Impossible to pick up in photos. Nobody knows you’re here, and you don’twantanyone to know, but…It’s complicated?Frisk guesses.Yeah.chara can draw frisk well enough, but after years of sharing the same body... trying to remember what they looked like before is getting harder and harder.
Relationships: Chara & Frisk (Undertale)
Series: still just you, frisk [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2118276
Comments: 14
Kudos: 112





	kill the party with me

**Author's Note:**

> the first thing i write in 2021 is .... undertale fanfic. i have nothing to say.
> 
> after rewatching dnp's undertale let's play, i started thinking. neither asgore nor toriel really talk about asriel & chara (apart from asgore's small mention near the end of his fight)... you really only hear the story from the other monsters. this fic is the result of me working through that while also rediscovering my love for chara.
> 
> anyway. usual trigger warnings that apply for any fic containing chara. references to the no mercy route, suicide, and trauma.

You’re the arts and crafts one, but right at this moment you can’t force your hands to move the pencil. Your fingers tremble, tightening their grip around your tool, and the sharp edge of your pencil makes a small line against the paper — you’ve only gotten a chin and a neck sketched out, and you can’t believe you’re _already_ freaking out.

 _What’s going on?_ Frisk inquires, soft.

 _I’m concentrating,_ you say quickly.

It’s _their_ sketchbook, technically. It has their name on it and everything. Frisk insists it’s yours — they don’t draw except for tiny sketches of flowers when they’re _really_ bored in social studies — and they had asked for it for Christmas specifically with you in mind (a sentiment you remember late in the night, when Frisk is asleep but you’re too paranoid to leave your shared body vulnerable). Many of the pages are already filled with different works; there’s charcoal drawings of your — _Frisk’s_ — friends, portraits of the city skyline made with mixed mediums of pencil and watercolor, and just tiny, cartoonish images of whatever you find most interesting at the moment. You have never tried to draw a human until now.

The sketch of Frisk came easy. You’ve been looking into a mirror and seeing the same face reflected back at you for a few years now. You know the ins and outs of Frisk’s body (Frisk laughs at this in your head) like it’s your own, and really, it _is_ your own now. There is no longer a point where you stop and Frisk begins, or vice versa. You don’t remember when this body-sharing business became so easy, but if it allows you to create nearly perfect recreations of Frisk’s face, then it doesn’t bother you all that much.

 _Can you draw yourself next to me?_ Frisk had asked when you’d finished, and you were eager to make them happy, but you’d only gotten out the length of your chin and neck when you had to stop, and here you sit now. Shaking. Hesitating. 

_I don’t think you’re concentrating,_ says Frisk. They take back control of their right hand and gently fold it over your left, rubbing a thumb over your knuckles and trying to loosen your grip on your pencil. _You don’t have to draw yourself if you don’t want to._

 _It’s not that,_ you assure, but at the same time, you’re not really sure what it is that’s bothering you so much. You haven’t had your own body and face in years, and by now it’s a skeleton still deep in the underground. Sometimes when you’re fronting and you look into a mirror you think you can see faint remnants of what you used to look like, and Frisk’s eyes turn red whenever you’re in control, but other than that…

_Chara?_

You swallow thickly, and slowly set down your pencil. _I don’t know if I really remember what I look like,_ you say quietly. Tapping into your own memories in search of a face brings you nothing but darkness. Then, after a beat, _Or if I even want to remember._

Frisk doesn’t say anything for a moment. While they’re busy collecting their thoughts, you glance back down at your sketchbook and gently run your fingertips over the image of Frisk. You’re pretty sure you’ve captured their essence completely, and in a fit of emotion, you add a tiny heart floating next to their head.

 _Sap,_ Frisk comments, but the warmth rising on your face comes from both of you. _Maybe we could go find a picture of you._

 _I doubt we’ll find one of those,_ you reply. _I hid my face in pretty much every picture taken of me in the underground. You won’t find one that shows me._ You flip the sketchbook to the page before and look over your paintings of the night sky. _And remember the tapes? You only ever heard my voice. You never saw me._

Frisk gives off a wave of disappointment. _I’m sure I’ve seen you somewhere before. There’s no way I just don’t know what you look like._

You hum. _I had red eyes._

_Well I know that, smartass._

You smile affectionately, but it fades quickly. Absentmindedly going through your old drawings, you can feel Frisk mulling about in your shared headspace. You have the image of them pacing back and forth thoughtfully. Their thoughts hit you: _Are there really no pictures of Chara anywhere? Is there really nothing we can do?_

For a brief moment, you think maybe there might be an image somewhere from your past, from before you ran away and threw yourself down a hole; a missing person’s notice hung up somewhere on the street, maybe, but those memories are stained with blood and a name you no longer recognize. Frisk dispels your idea the moment it pops up — they’d never do that to you, and especially not for a drawing.

After a beat, Frisk startles. It jostles the both of you, and they slam your hands against the desk in shock.

You’re almost afraid to ask. _What?_

_I just had a thought._

A pause. You tilt your head, _Okay… care to share with the class?_

 _Gimme a second,_ they say, and they take control of their hands again to tap their fingers against the desk. After they take the time to focus and organize what they’re going to say, Frisk blurts, _I’ve never even seen pictures of Asriel._

You’re quiet for a moment. The mention of your brother is always like a stab to the heart. _There’s definitely pictures of him out there,_ you all but whisper. You’ve seen them in person.

 _I mean here,_ Frisk clarifies, _at home._ _There’s none in Mom’s house, and none in Dad’s house…_

 _At least, out in the open,_ you finish the thought for them. _So… what? Do you think they’re… hiding them or something?_

 _Neither Mom or Dad ever talk about you or Asriel,_ Frisk comments, and you press your lips together tightly. You feel them lean back in your headspace, and they furrow their brows. _Why, though?_

 _Maybe they’re trying to protect you,_ you offer dryly. 

_Sorry,_ Frisk instantly says. _I’m not trying to make you upset._

_You’re not._

_Liar._ Well, fuck. You could never get anything past them. _Well, no, duh. We literally share a soul. I feel everything you do._ Get out of my head, loser. _Our head._

 _Whatever,_ you break in, shaking your head. Pushing back away from your desk, you slump down and rest your chin on your chest. _What’s the point of all this?_

 _We should try to find pictures of you!_ Frisk exclaims. They hesitate for a moment, then continue, _Well, but, um… only if you want to._

For a long time, you aren’t sure what to say. It’s times like these where you’re glad that Frisk can feel everything you do, and neither of you ever have to vocalize these things to one another. You’ve spent the past several years accepting yourself as another part of Frisk’s soul, and seeing a photo of yourself would only remind you that you _were_ a person once, a human, living and breathing. An owner of a soul without a half-dead ghost lingering onto it. Something that was tossed away once it became too much to handle. Something that gave up just to feel useful again.

 _Chara,_ Frisk scolds.

Oops. Anyway. It’s weird to remember that you had your own body once. Your own face. You think you were paler than Frisk is, and definitely taller… but Frisk’s space is your space now. You’ll never be able to return to your own body, and you never know when one day your luck runs out and the universe remembers you’re supposed to be dead. There’s no point in seeing your own face when it’s something old and forgotten.

 _Not forgotten,_ Frisk assures. _If you really don’t want to, we won’t._

There’s that “we” again. _Do you want to, though?_

Frisk pauses. Then, _Yes,_ they say honestly, _and not just because I want you to be able to draw us together._

 _Why else?_ you ask, helplessly curious.

Suddenly, embarrassment overwhelms you. It’s not your own. _Um,_ Frisk says, and you get the impression of them scratching their neck without them actually doing it. _Well. Sometimes I like to imagine me giving you a hug when you’re sad, but there isn’t really another person for me to imagine. Just myself… with red eyes, I guess._ Their embarrassment diminishes somewhat, replaced with your own bashfulness. _Though I guess it might make me sad, because I can’t actually hug you for real._

You gape at the empty wall in front of you. Then, inhaling shakily, you throw your arms around yourself, and close your eyes. _I know what you mean,_ you say softly.

Frisk hugs you back, as well as they’re able to. You could argue that this is closer, more _intimate_ than just a mere hug, but Frisk has always been one for physical contact. This quiet, emotional attachment… that’s your thing.

After a few minutes of the two of you sitting there, cradling your own shared body, you let go. _Alright,_ you say slowly, and close your sketchbook with finality, _let’s go find a picture._

* * *

It’s easier said than done. You aren’t really sure where to start looking at first. Even though you’ve seen the walls a hundred times, you and Frisk scour both Mom and Dad’s houses for any sort of hints. There’s nothing from before the death of you and your brother. Dad’s got pictures of him with a younger Undyne, and a big group photo of Frisk and their friends in front of Mom’s school, but other than that… nothing. Mom’s got a lot more — Frisk posing for school photos, group photos in front of a beach, Frisk climbing up a tree, sans and Papyrus with their arms around one another and grinning at the camera, Frisk next to a fireplace at Christmas, Frisk, Frisk, and more Frisk. 

Except in these photos, it’s just Frisk. There’s no you — or at least, no _you_ that Mom or anyone else is even aware of. Behind those brown eyes of theirs, you’re always lingering around there somewhere. Impossible to pick up in photos. Nobody knows you’re here, and you don’t _want_ anyone to know, but…

 _It’s complicated?_ Frisk guesses.

_Yeah._

You know it’s unfair to say, but it feels like both Mom and Dad have… forgotten about you. And Asriel. It’s impossible — you want to _think_ it’s impossible — but seeing all these people that your parents clearly love spread across their walls to show off for everyone to see, without a single trace of their first children… it hurts.

 _Maybe it’s a sad memory they don’t want to think of,_ Frisk tries, after you find yourself staring at the photo of Frisk in front of the fireplace for longer than you should (this was the Christmas you got that sketchbook, you remember). They try to pull their body away from it, but you keep your feet rooted to the ground, frowning.

 _I didn’t want to be just a sad memory to them,_ you say, and Frisk lets it drop.

* * *

After you’ve swept the halls of each house, the next step is to search each of your parents’ individual bedrooms. This is the part you’re mainly scared for, because you’re somewhat afraid of finding something weird ( _Like what?_ Frisk questions, and gets annoyed when you don’t answer), but if there’s some sort of hidden photo of you somewhere… then surely it must be there?

Dad’s room is easier to get into than it should be. He’s the kind of guy that leaves his door unlocked in a world where monster and human relations are still shaky, and the kind of guy that invites the person trying to kill them for a cup of tea.

( _I thought we didn’t talk about that, Chara._

 _It’s still crazy when you think about it._ )

His room is emptier than either of you expect. He’s still got his Nose-Nuzzle Champion trophy tucked in the corner next to the closet, and when you open that, there’s a lot more sets of overalls and sweaters than there were before. The _Mr. Dad Guy_ sweater is strangely absent, and you aren’t sure how you feel about that.

Searching in the drawers lead to nothing. For some reason, he’s got gardening tools in his bedside table, along with various bags of seed. No hidden photographs, no hidden secrets for you or Frisk to rub your grubby hands on.

Then, you’re just about to leave when you see it. You lift yourself up with a huff and spin and your eyes instantly lock onto it. Your breath catches, and your whole body tenses up, but you’re not the only one inhabiting this space now. Frisk slips back into control, pushing you back into the headspace, and you watch as a backseat driver as they step up towards the photo. It’s set on the windowsill in the very back of the room, and it’s a photo you’ve seen a hundred times.

 _This was in your old room,_ Frisk mentions as they pick it up. _Yours and Asriel’s room._

You don’t say anything. It’s one of the first pictures Mom and Dad took of you and Asriel after they officially made you part of the family. You can still feel the fear in your heart even now — back then you’d been so terrified, so hesitant, constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. You couldn’t fathom why these monsters who had only known you for a short time wanted a photo, wanted _physical_ evidence that you existed alongside them. You’d fallen down Mt. Ebott to die, and instead received something you would never deserve, even in a thousand years.

In the photo, your parents’ faces are out of view, but their hands are on your shoulders, and if you concentrate you think you can feel their warmth through the fabric of your sweater. You and Asriel are both holding bouquets of flowers, but…

 _I told you,_ you eventually say, and you can’t help the way your voice shakes. _My face is hidden in pretty much every single picture._

Frisk reaches out and picks up the frame. They run the tips of their fingers over the glass, right over where your face would be, and you can barely feel the sensation of it. You can’t stop looking at the way Asriel is smiling at you in this picture, still full of hope. You want to believe that you were smiling too, underneath all those flowers, despite the butterflies in your stomach. You want to kill yourself all over again for letting yourself ruin what you had.

After a beat, Frisk takes a deep, shuddering breath. They wipe at tears prickling at the corner of their eyes, and neither of you are sure who they belong to. _It’s nice to know that he took the picture with him,_ they say for you, and nothing more.

* * *

Mom’s room is a lot harder to get into. 

She doesn’t really let Frisk in there whenever she’s home, and whenever she’s _not_ home, Frisk is either at school or has someone else there to watch over them (which you think is total bullshit, because it’s not like they’re six years old — _she’s just being cautious, Chara_ — yeah, and you wonder whose fault that is).

So… the two of you pretend that you’re sick. It takes some time; you both have to wait for a day when nearly all of your friends are busy doing other things, while also coincidentally being a day where Mom has something important to do at the school. You can tell that she’s incredibly hesitant about leaving Frisk alone when they’re “sick,” (again, your fault), but if there’s one thing you’re good at, it's manipulating people. After you’re sure Frisk put in their brown-tinted contacts, you take control and bat your eyelashes and assure _I’ll call if I need anything, and it’s really not that bad, Mom, but I just think being around people and all those bright lights would make it worse._

It works.

 _Wow,_ Frisk says when they hear the door shut.

 _Please, compliment me more,_ you say, throwing your arms dramatically over your eyes. _Tell me all about what an amazing actor I am._

 _You should work for Mettaton,_ is all Frisk says, and the both of you laugh outwardly as you make the joint effort to sneak out of your room. 

The two of you wait until you hear and see Mom’s van pull out of the driveway and go all of the way down the road, and then a few more minutes so you’re sure she won’t come back to say she forgot something or to say she’ll actually stay home and watch over you after all.

When nothing happens, Frisk makes a beeline for her room. They twist the knob, and both of you are startled to see it isn’t locked (which is a feeling neither of you can quite place), and Frisk hesitates on pushing it open for a moment.

 _So we can invade Dad’s privacy but not Mom’s,_ you comment curtly, but you understand their trepidation.

 _Shut up,_ Frisk says. _This is different. Dad lets everyone go wherever they want._

This is very true. You stay quiet, and when Frisk waits a second longer, you become impatient and reach out to push open the door for them. It opens so quickly that the knob slams into the wall, making the two of you flinch. There’s nobody home but you two, but you both wait in fearful silence. You have the brief memory of screaming and hitting, and are hit with the usual disappointment that the memory comes from both you _and_ Frisk. The two of you don’t share _just_ a soul.

When nothing happens, Frisk steps into the room. All of the curtains are drawn open, illuminating the room with just enough sunlight to be visible. There are a lot of plants surrounding the area — mainly cacti. She’s gathered a lot more books since coming up to the surface, and there are several titles that you remember seeing her read in the living room. Her journal is still there at a desk, but now there’s _more_ puns, and you notice with distaste that most of them seem to be… skeleton-related.

 _“Who is the most famous skeleton detective?”_ Frisk reads. _“Sherlock Bones!”_

 _Ha ha,_ you mock, but it’s not really that funny. _This isn’t what we’re here for._

 _Right._ After one last glance at the notebook, Frisk moves on. They scan the top of the dresser, the windowsills, and even the bookshelf for any hint of some sort of photo album or anything that would indicate pictures. Searching through the bedside drawers returns nothing but some apparent gag gifts and a set of _incredibly_ expensive art supplies with a sticky note attached to the front that reads _Frisk’s birthday!_

“Oops,” you say aloud. Frisk laughs and closes the drawer, pretending that they didn’t see a thing.

 _She’s always been awful at hiding gifts,_ you say, hit with a wave of nostalgia. You remember finding one of your own birthday gifts underneath the couch one time, and couldn’t understand why Mom was so upset with you opening it — your birthday had never been celebrated before that point, and besides, you had been really curious. 

Nostalgia gives way to guilt. Frisk isn’t into art like you are. Mom had mistakenly bought these super fancy art pencils thinking they’d love them, when it’s really you controlling that aspect. Their birthday is being wasted on you.

 _Not a waste,_ Frisk interjects instantly. _It’s_ **_our_ ** _birthday present._

You want to mention how it says _Frisk’s_ name and not _yours_ , but you say nothing. You just let Frisk continue their fruitless search for a photo of your face. On the wall there’s one of Asriel’s old macaroni arts, and underneath it are a few stuffed animals you remember Asriel had played with when he was very young, but overall… there’s nothing. No evidence you ever existed.

It feels strange that Dad owns the only photo of you and Asriel. It also stings in a way you couldn’t possibly imagine.

Frisk makes a small noise to get your attention. _Our search isn’t over,_ they reassure. 

You take control to steer your body towards the mirror to look at your own reflection blankly. Frisk’s face stares back at you. When you frown, their lips follow. Your lips. Whatever. _Where else could we possibly search?_ you ask. _I doubt Undyne or whoever is going to have a picture of a dead kid on their wall._

 _Not up here,_ Frisk answers, and man, you hate when they intentionally leave things vague.

However, it only takes you a few short moments to understand what they mean. _You mean…_

 _It’s where you lived,_ Frisk says. _If there’s going to be anything of you, it’ll be down there._

You don’t really know how you feel about this, but the two of you have made it this far, and there’s no way you can turn back now. 

* * *

The day after, Frisk walks up to Mom in the kitchen and taps her arm to get her attention. Once she glances down, they sign, **Mom, I’m going for a walk around the mountain.**

She stares at them for a moment. “I thought you were sick, my child.” 

**Still am,** they say at your command, **but yesterday I felt better after opening my window. I want to see if taking a walk will help.**

Mom still looks as if she doesn’t believe them (and knowing her, with her _mom-knowledge,_ she probably knows Frisk is faking it), but nobody ever really tries to stop Frisk’s independence anymore. They let them roam around the underground alone, being attacked left and right, so none of their friends really have any right to stop them from doing anything this harmless. It’s just a walk.

 _Don’t tell her we’re going underground,_ you say.

 _Duh,_ Frisk replies, and you pinch their right arm with your left in retaliation.

Mom doesn’t notice the movement. She just sighs, and leans down to press a kiss against the top of Frisk’s head. “Alright. Please be careful, dear. Call if you need anything.”

 **I will,** Frisk says, and they strap up their backpack and shove their phone in their pocket, and make their way out the door.

It’s actually nice outside. The fresh air feels nice, even if the two of you aren’t actually sick. It’s sunny and the sky is clear, but windy enough to keep it from getting too hot. There aren’t many people outside, but that’s probably because it’s around the middle of the day — apparently adults have to _work_ to make a living, or something like that. 

Eventually, town makes way to forest, and forest makes way to mountain. The climb uphill is a lot harder than it used to be. Nobody ever really comes around here anymore, so the paths have been covered with overgrowth. The first time, for both of you, the climb was easy. The danger meant nothing to either of you, because the danger was the very reason you were up there. It was the fall that was the hard part — the fall, and the moments afterwards. The few blissful moments of peace before the realization that you were still alive, followed by pain.

Those times are over now. Hopefully. 

Even so, as Frisk climbs… anxiety bubbles in you. It boils over you and spreads into Frisk, and you mutter out an apology when they step off to the side and grab onto a tree for support.

 _It’s alright,_ Frisk says, then pauses. _What’s wrong?_

You struggle for a moment. _What if there’s really nothing?_ you ask. _No pictures of me, no trace that I was ever there… I wanted to disappear in the first place, and I always hated seeing myself no matter what, but I…_

 _You want evidence they loved you,_ Frisk says. They have always seemed to know you better than you know yourself.

You bite your lip. Then, _They shouldn’t. I caused them so much pain. I killed their only son._

Frisk instantly argues, _You were their child too. You just wanted to help free everyone._

_I only made it worse._

There’s a moment when a strange feeling washes over you. _I don’t think those monsters in New Home would have told me that story if it wasn’t important,_ Frisk says. _If nobody loved you._ When you don’t answer, they go on, _They said the entire underground mourned the day you and Asriel died. They loved you as one of their own._

Then, you see a memory as if you’re there in the moment once again. Dad’s got you up on his shoulders, his arm thrown out to gesture to the whole of the kingdom. Thousands of monsters cheer from underneath you. _The future of humans and monsters,_ they’d called you that day. The hope for us all. 

Then you’d gone and fucked it up.

 _They told that story after you died,_ Frisk repeats. _If they didn’t want to remember you, they wouldn’t._

You don’t have anything to say to that. After another moment, Frisk pushes themselves off the tree and tightens their backpack straps.

 _Ready?_ they ask.

 _Mm-hmm_ , you reply, and the two of you make your way up.

* * *

New Home comes up empty. Dad clearly took anything related to you or Asriel with him, or he threw it away. You don’t really want to entertain that last thought, so you resolutely assume the former.

It’s strange seeing the underground so quiet. _Again,_ a traitorous voice that doesn’t belong to you or Frisk whispers. Except this time, when it’s quiet, the air is clear of white dust, and you’re actually able to see five feet in front of you. 

There are no monsters here, but they were not struck down by your blade. Not this time. You and Frisk both halt in place and firmly remind yourselves that all of your friends and family are above you, happy, living their lives.

You walk all the way back to the Ruins. It takes pretty much the entire day — god, you forgot just how _big_ the underground was — and Frisk has to stop several times, but the old home is standing just as strong and tall as ever. 

There’s still a surprising amount of furniture left. Most monsters didn’t bother bringing their stuff up with them, eager to experience the kind of appliances humans had, so for a moment it _really_ feels like the two of you have killed them all again. But walking into the living room shows an absent area where Mom’s chair used to be, and several books are missing from the bookshelf, so that thought is dispelled quickly once again.

Searching the bookshelf brings nothing. There’s no hidden compartments in the kitchen, and Mom’s room is perpetually useless. Even looking through the room you and Asriel briefly shared before moving to New Home brings nothing. 

All signs of life are virtually gone from the place, and you can’t help but feel all of your fears are being realized.

 _Hold on,_ Frisk says, determined, and takes full control as they begin searching through every single cupboard, drawer, and anything that opens. They make their way back into the hallway, checking behind pots and underneath tables. You try to steer them away, but they’ve completely locked you out, absolutely convinced they’re going to find something related to you. It makes you want to laugh until you cry, to try and hide the growing emptiness rising in your soul.

You’re not paying attention when Frisk gets to the table near the staircase carrying the calendar. The date you fell into the underground is still circled so clearly, but this time… there’s something different. Underneath it is a book you’ve never seen before.

Frisk instantly opens it up, and you both realize with shock that it’s a _photo album_. You can’t tell if it’s your hand or Frisk’s that start turning pages — eyes scanning across faces and names you both recognize and don’t. There’s dates on some of the photos, but not all of them. A lot of them appear to be very old, but almost all of them are well-maintained.

There’s some photos of Dad’s garden in New Home, and some of various monsters mulling about their daily lives. There’s a different version of the picture of Dad and young Undyne, and several of Mom and Dad together, looking much younger. There’s even one of Mom with a very obviously pregnant belly. Deeper inside the photo album is an image that looks as if it’s been moved and held several times — a wedding photo.

Turning the page leads to… nothing. There’s some more space for more photos, but there’s nothing else. Frisk opens the book all the way and the two of you notice a tear near the middle. An entire page has been ripped out. 

_Mom must have ripped it,_ Frisk says. _No one else was here._

 _But why?_ you ask. _What was on it?_

Both of you are thinking the same thing. Frisk stands, puts the photo album into their backpack, and makes their way down the stairs.

* * *

Mom is cooking dinner when the two of you return. You’ve probably been gone longer than she would have preferred, but she says nothing about it, so neither does Frisk. Her worried expression is what kills you though; back when you were alive, you’d been on the receiving end of that look plenty of times. Now she doesn’t even know you’re here.

You take a backseat as Frisk eats dinner with your mother. Her conversation becomes muted to you. You’re helplessly thinking back to the photo album — even when you lived in the underground, it’s something you never saw before. Asriel never mentioned anything like a photo album either. It makes you think it must have been something very private, and judging from the pictures, very personal to Mom. 

A part of you is a bit shocked to know that she kept her wedding photos with Dad, but another part of you is secretly very happy about that. The guilt of knowing you are the reason they divorced is something that eats at you every day, and you miss seeing them together. Even if their affection was overly sickening… you could always tell they loved each other very much.

After seeing those photos, you think that maybe, deep down, there’s still that level of affection that never left. A part of Dad will always have Mom’s heart. Maybe that’s just wishful thinking.

 _I think it’s true,_ Frisk says, tapping into your thoughts.

You hope so.

After dinner, while Mom starts to clean up, Frisk darts into the living room and takes out the photo album. Glancing over their shoulder to make sure she isn’t looking, they sit on the floor and open it up back to where the ripped page was. The photo before it is of a pregnant Toriel, so Frisk hopes — _both_ of you hope — that maybe this secret page is related to you. Or Asriel. 

Either way, you’d be happy to see his face again.

Frisk flips through some of the pictures again, lingering longer on some of the wedding photos. The pure happiness on your parents’ faces is indescribable; you’ll never forgive yourself for ruining that (and you always tend to destroy everything you touch). Mom’s wedding dress is beautiful, and you can tell Frisk wants to know where she got it, and if it’s still around, but neither of you know how she would react to knowing you have this album. Dad’s wearing a suit that is pretty nondescript, but his smile makes up for it. They both look so young.

You remember with a heavy heart that boss monsters only age when their offspring does.

 _These must be so old,_ Frisk says, rubbing their finger along the cover of the album. _I wonder why she stopped taking pictures._

You frown. _She would always want to take one of me. I always said no._ You should’ve said yes. You should’ve savored every moment you had with her.

Frisk gives you a metaphorical hug again. The two of you get so wrapped up in it that you don’t notice your mother’s presence behind you. When you come to, and flip the page back to the ripped one, her gasp is what startles you.

Frisk instantly takes control out of shock, and whirls around. Their face warms with shame, and they slam the album shut, hanging their head. **Sorry,** they sign, and lift their hands to do more, but—

Mom’s eyes are wet. She kneels down and takes Frisk’s hands in hers, immediately halting whatever rambling they could have gone on. She looks down at the album with a gaze neither of you can identify.

“I had my suspicions when you told me you were taking a walk near the mountain,” she says quietly. “Did you return for this,” she places one paw on the album, “or did you happen to find it there?”

 **I found it,** Frisk signs, and it’s technically not a lie. You hope Mom doesn’t notice their half-aborted sign for _we_ at the beginning.

Mom takes the album into her lap and starts to flip through some of the images. Frisk clambors over to sit beside her, leaning their head against her chest and watching her reminisce. She stops longer at some of the photos, and laughs at others.

Pointing at the photo of Dad and Undyne, she comments, “I’m sure you’ve seen this one at your father’s house.” When Frisk nods, she continues, “It took so many times to get the two of them to stay still just to take one! I have no clue how we managed to get multiple.”

At the photo of Dad’s garden, “Asgore didn’t believe me when I told him he always spent all day at the garden, so I took this photo to prove it to him.”

At one of the pictures of her and Dad posing, “This was at our engagement party. We danced right after this, and every time he would step on my toes he’d almost start hyperventilating from how much he apologized. He was incredibly shy back then, if you could believe that…”

You could. Frisk shares the sentiment.

At the picture of her pregnant, she pauses, but says, “We were so excited. Nervous, of course, but… we couldn’t wait for our son to arrive.” A soft smile dons her face. “He was such a quiet baby. We were scared when he barely ever moved, but when he was born we knew he would be a sensitive soul.”

Helplessly, you think of Flowey, the soulless monster hoarding your brother’s dust. Subtly, Frisk reaches out to your left hand and holds it with their right.

Mom flips the page and reaches the torn section. She doesn’t say anything for a moment, and sighs slowly when Frisk glances up questioningly at her. 

“Wait here a moment,” she says, and leaves for the kitchen. 

The two of you hear the sound of rustling for a few short moments. She’s digging through her purse, and when she returns, she’s carrying her wallet. Frisk scoots over so she can sit back down, and she pulls the album back into her lap. Frisk snuggles back up beside her and strokes some of her fur between their fingers. Mom opens her wallet and inside you can see a picture of her and all of Frisk’s friends inside. However, there’s a section behind that picture that seems to open. She pulls out something bigger from behind it — another photo.

“I ended up throwing the page away,” Mom says, “but I’ve kept the photo itself with me all this time.” She slowly opens it up, and it takes your breath away. “I could not bear to part with it.”

Mom holds it out in front of her. The movement of the camera is shaky, but the image is clear enough for you and Frisk to see two figures. The photographer is a few feet away, but there you are. You and your brother, sitting in your shared room, holding up some toys and laughing. Asriel’s on the floor, holding his stomach, and his head is turned away from the camera. You, however… are visible. Your eyes are wide and almost manic with joy. You’re throwing something at Asriel, so that object is all but a blur, but there’s no way it could be with anger. You’re smiling. Your entire face is twisted up in mirth. 

“I took this photo in secret,” Mom says wistfully. She lets Frisk take the photo for themselves, and your grip unconsciously tightens on the edges. “Chara never quite liked having their picture taken, but I… I selfishly wanted to have something to look at.” She takes in a shaky breath. “I’m glad I have this to look at. They were both so happy…”

Frisk blinks away your tears. You can’t tear your eyes away. **You never really talk about them,** they sign without turning away.

Mom’s smile goes sad. “My biggest regret is not being able to protect my children,” she says. “I did not want you to feel burdened by my failures, and perhaps I… was trying to protect myself.” She looks over Frisk’s shoulder to gaze at the photo. “My children are dead and I have mourned them, but that does not mean I’ve forgotten them.” Mom hesitates a moment longer, and smoothes her palm over the length of Frisk’s back, soothingly. You hope she can’t feel you shake. “If I am telling the truth… I see them in you, Frisk. Both of them. Every time I look at you I am reminded of them.” Her hands start to tremble against the two of you. “We did not know much about human illnesses back then… so when Chara became sick… there was hardly anything we could do. I only hope that in their final moments… they knew they were loved.”

Oh God. You will yourself not to start crying. You don’t have any words, just feelings, and Frisk matches yours with their own.

 **They knew,** Frisk signs with trembling hands. **They knew. They loved you too. So much.**

Mom just nods, and you’re overtaken with the desire to let her know you’re there. You’re _listening_. That you’ve been here this whole time. Frisk pauses, like they’re ready to let you take over and make yourself known, but you can’t. Her children are dead and gone and she’s mourned them. To reveal your existence would be to shatter everything she knows. To reveal you’re alive again would be to force her into something she isn’t ready to take in.

So you can’t. You have to keep pretending like you’re dead, no matter how much it fucking hurts.

 _Chara,_ Frisk tries, but no. You shut them out, return to your corner of the headspace, and cry. 

* * *

The photo of yourself is stuck in your mind. You never knew you could smile like that. You haven’t heard your own laughter in a very long time. You don’t even really know what your voice sounds like. Everything you are is just Frisk now.

 _I’m sorry_ , Frisk says, like it's somehow their fault. How could it be, when _you're_ the bloodsucking demon?

 _Don’t be,_ you say back. _I’m glad I’m here._ And it’s true, but at the same time, your own face is glued to your thoughts. Your bright red eyes, your flushed cheeks, arms and legs that seemed too gangly for your body… 

With a start, you lift yourself up off the couch and rush into Frisk’s room. The sketchbook is still there where you left it, and Frisk just watches in wide-eyed surprise as you flip to a new page, pick up your pencil, and just go to town. 

It sort of feels like blacking out. You’re not completely aware of your own hand’s movements, but it’s not the same as taking a back seat. You know it’s you drawing, but… it’s instinctual. Very… _go-with-the-flow._ That sort of approach is never really your style, but right now there’s nothing else you can possibly do but _create_.

It takes a long time. It’s late in the night when you’re finished, and your mother is probably asleep by now, but there’s no way you can wait. Rushing out of the room, you spot her half-asleep in her chair, photo album still open in her lap. Love rushes through you, and you walk up to her and gently shake her shoulder.

She jolts a little when she comes to, but shakes her head to dispel some of the drowsiness and smiles up at you (at Frisk). “Frisk? What is it?”

Taking a deep breath, you hold out your drawing to her. It’s of you, and of Asriel, your portraits shoulder-up side-by-side. You’re both smiling, but you couldn’t help but make your hair cover your eyes a little bit, like you remember when your bangs used to get too long for your face. 

Mom takes the drawing in her hands and stares at it for a long time. Then, abruptly, she begins crying. Full-on tears, but silently.

“Oh…” she murmurs. “Frisk.” You ignore the pain. “It’s beautiful.” She stands, and takes a deep breath. Looking over at some of the empty space on the walls, she smiles. “I think it’s time we add a few more photos.

* * *

A few days later, right in the living room, your drawing is framed and hung up on the wall above the fireplace. Underneath it is the photo of you and Asriel, laughing all of your troubles away.

 _I expected you to be taller,_ Frisk says when they see it.

You reply eloquently, _Fuck you._


End file.
